


two halves reaching out into the unknown

by driedflowers



Series: hp challenge fics [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Secret Admirer, Valentine's Day, mentions of gobstones club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 08:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedflowers/pseuds/driedflowers
Summary: Hermione receives a valentine from an unidentified secret admirer, and takes it upon herself to track them down.





	two halves reaching out into the unknown

**Author's Note:**

> title from maybe we're meant to be alone by bad suns (the sentiment of which does not really reflect this fic? but i didn't realize the true meaning of the song until i looked up the lyrics and this line sounded poetic so)
> 
> prompt: (inspiration) mean girls

A kid in a Valentine’s Day hat holding a basket of candy canes walks in during Transfiguration, and Professor McGonagall looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm. She sits down at her desk, muttering darkly about Professor Dumbledore going too far with these school clubs, and the delivery guy starts to dole out his valentines. The Gobstones Club is having a valentine delivery service to fund their trip to a tournament in the US, and while they have the faculty’s full support in theory, the interruptions to class have not been received well. 

“Anthony Goldstein, two for you,” he says, placing the cards on his desk. “Harry Potter?  _ Four _ for you, Harry Potter! You go, Harry Potter. And, uh… Her-me-own Granger. Do we have a Her-me-own Granger here?”

“It’s Hermione,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, Hermione, here you go, one for you… And none for Ron Weasley,” he quickly adds as he sees Ron’s hopeful face. “Bye!” 

The kid is gone, and Professor McGonagall goes back to lecturing on the intricacies of using transfiguration for personal alterations. Harry shoves his valentines into his bag without so much as a second look, and Hermione follows suit. Of course, Harry isn’t fazed by the attention; he’s been getting valentines all week, but Hermione can’t help but glance at her bag every few minutes. It’s not that she’s interested in whoever sent this to her—she doesn’t have time for romance, not if she wants to be Minister by thirty—but she is  _ interested. _ In the mystery of it all, in a purely academic sense!

After Transfiguration is Arithmancy, and after Arithmancy is dinner. By the time Hermione makes it back to the Gryffindor Common Room, she’s itching to read the card. She ends up rummaging through her bag for it instead of the usual nonchalant removal of homework and textbooks. 

Harry and Ron watch over her shoulder as she opens the pink envelope and removes a card. Hermione braces herself, just in case it’s one of those singing ones, sort of like an anti-Howler, but the card does not burst into song. Inside is a picture of a cat, and some sort of poem. Hermione reads, not sure what to expect.

_ Roses are red, _

_ Chocolate is brown. _

_ Just like your eyes— _

_ They’re so deep I could drown. _

“There’s no name,” Ron says. He must have skimmed the poem; there’s no way he read it faster than Hermione. But he’s right, it’s signed  _ your secret admirer _ in black ink at the bottom. “It’s probably from Cormac McLaggen or something.”

“Oh, shut up. Just because you didn’t get any valentines doesn’t mean you have to be such a jerk,” Hermione snaps. 

Harry pushes his own four cards deeper into his bag, looking guilty. “Hey, did you see Malfoy today?” he asks, clearly jumping on the first subject he can think of to change the course of the conversation. Of course they did; they all had double potions with the Slytherins, but Hermione and Ron both know there’s no point in saying that. “He definitely nicked some boomslang skin when Slughorn was cleaning up Goyle’s potion after his cauldron exploded.”

Hermione shakes her head. “Aren’t you a little bit curious?” she says, waving the card in in front of him.

Harry sighs. “I’m going to the library to look up uses of boomslang skin.”

“Ron?” Hermione gives him a pointed look.

“I’ll, er, pass. Lots of homework,” he says, scooping up his bag and retreating to the boys’ dormitory. Just because the only valentine  _ he _ ’s gotten is from Lavender doesn’t mean he has to sulk all the time. Hermione would be all over this mystery if the situation were reversed.

“Men,” Hermione mutters under her breath, taking out her Charms book. She hasn’t even found the chapter yet when someone taps her on the shoulder. It’s Ginny, turned around in her armchair to face Hermione.

“I’ll help you out,” she offers. Ginny’s smiling brightly and tapping her fingertips on the back of her chair. It’s not a frenetic action, like a release of pent-up energy from being cooped up in the castle all day, but a nervous one, Hermione thinks. Either way, she’s definitely been watching Ginny’s fingers for longer than is socially acceptable.

“Thanks,” Hermione says, meeting Ginny’s eyes again. She can’t help but notice the blush that creeps across Ginny’s cheeks, but she turns back to her work, not giving it another moment’s thought. This is an interesting mystery, but there’s no way in hell it’s going to cut into her study time.

* * *

 

The next day, Hermione returns to the common room with a book the size of Crookshanks, and twice as heavy. She hefts it into the air and drops it onto the table in front of Ginny to get the full effect.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a muggle psychology book. I was surprised they had it in the library, but it’s crucial,” she says, opening the cover and removing a piece of parchment she full of notes and circles and diagrams and crosses. “I’ve psychoanalyzed every boy in fourth through seventh year to see who fits the profile.”

“You seem pretty excited to find this guy,” Ginny says, almost incredulous.

“Yes, well, it’s the mystery of the thing,” Hermione says. It’s a little flattering, she guesses, but it’s mostly that she loves a good puzzle.

Ginny shrugs, which Hermione takes as an invitation to continue. “I’ve narrowed it down to a few candidates.” Hermione rattles off their names, first the boys who might seriously be interested in her, and then anyone who might’ve sent the card as a joke. 

Ginny raises her eyebrows. “I’m impressed,” she says.

“I’ve also made a schedule for us to follow.” Hermione removes another piece of parchment from her bag, with names, dates, times, and locations.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Ginny says with a laugh.

“It does,” Hermione agrees. It’s fun to be doing something like this, especially with Ginny. It’s nice to talk about something other than Voldemort or Malfoy, or how clingy Lavender is being this week, and it’s nice to be hanging out with a girl for once. It’s not that those problems aren’t real and important, but not thinking about them for a few days isn’t going to make Voldemort rise to power any faster.

* * *

 

Seamus isn’t slotted in until Thursday, but he’s with Dean when Hermione and Ginny go to corner him in the library, so it makes sense to cross them both off at once. Hermione takes out the card and clears her throat

“Did either of you send this to me?” It sounds a bit less professional than she’d hoped, but it should get the job done.

Dean and Seamus exchange a look, like Hermione is missing out on some inside joke.

When both of them shake their heads no, Hermione is kind of relieved. She desperately wants to know who sent the card, but she’s not sure what she’s going to do when she finds out. The idea of finding an answer is infinitely more exciting than whatever waits on the other side of it.

“You can do better than them, anyway,” Ginny says when they’re walking back to the common room.

“You really think so?” Hermione asks. 

“You have dated an international quidditch star,” Ginny points out.

She stops in the middle of the hallway. “Viktor couldn’t have sent it, could he?” Hermione hadn’t factored anyone outside the castle into her analysis; that could really throw a wrench into the works.

“Nah, you have to actually go to Gobstones Club to buy one.” Ginny mock-shudders. “I never want to see a bunch of circles on the floor again.”

“Who did you—” Hermione starts to ask, but the bell rings, cutting her off. 

Ginny says something about potions and disappears into the crowd of students pouring from the classrooms.

* * *

 

Next up is Malfoy, whom Hermione is dreading confronting. She decides to do it at a Slug Club meeting; that way, he can’t ridicule her. At least, not too loudly.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ginny says bracingly after they’ve said their requisite hellos to Slughorn. “It’ll be fine. And if it doesn’t, I’ll bat bogey hex the shit out of him.”

Hermione nods, takes a deep breath, and walks over to where Malfoy is talking to Blaise Zabini.

“Malfoy. A word?”

He whirls around, jumpy and afraid until he sees who it is, and scowls. “What, Granger.”

“Well, I was hoping to talk to you privately about—”

“How you got my father sent to Azkaban? Or maybe you wanted to ask what kind of plotting I’m up to. Potter’s constant snooping isn’t having the results, then?” he says, sneering.

“It’s not about—” She pulls the card out of her robes, rolling her eyes. “Did you send me this? As some sort of joke?”

“Is that a Gobstones Club valentine?” Malfoy asks, actually laughing in her face. But he seems so relieved that Hermione isn’t asking about any sort of dark magic that he barely mocks her. “Blaise, are you hearing this?  _ Me _ , sending a Gobstones valentine…”

Hermione retreats before she can hear the rest of what promises to be an unpleasant monologue. She’s glad it wasn’t Malfoy, but not so pleased that Harry’s ridiculous theories might hold some water. She can’t deny it; Malfoy is acting suspiciously.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bat bogey hex him?” Ginny asks when Hermione recounts the story. She declines politely, but it makes her smile.

Zacharias Smith provides a similarly haughty denial, and then there’s only one name left on the list.

“Neville isn’t so bad,” Ginny offers noncommittally, chewing on some crystallized pineapple. 

“He’s alright,” Hermione agrees, taking a piece herself. It should be more satisfying than this, finding the answer. Getting a particularly tough clue in the Daily Prophet crossword shouldn’t be more exciting than solving a real life mystery, but she can’t help feeling like there’s something more. Much like the pineapple in her mouth, she feels as though she’s not quite ready to swallow.

* * *

 

The next day, Hermione and Ginny find Neville in the common room. He’s bent over a Herbology textbook, and as much as Hermione hates to disturb him, she has to get this over with.

She’s glad that it’s him, though, she really is. He’s nice, non-threatening, and maybe even a little cute. Hermione had never thought about Neville in  _ that way _ before, but now she realizes that he isn’t a bad choice. 

Hermione clears her throat, and he looks up. “Neville, did you send me a Gobstones Club valentine?”

Neville turns mandrake-red, but he shakes his head no.

“Come on, it’s alright.”

“Seriously, it wasn’t me.” Neville’s face is fading back to its usual color, and Hermione believes him.

“Right. Er, sorry, then.”

“Good luck on your Herbology exam,” Ginny says, filling the uncomfortable silence, and they retreat back to a couch in the corner.

It should be annoying, being faced once again with an answerless question, but Hermione feels more at peace than she did minutes ago, when she thought she had it. Maybe it’s better not to know. What would she have done if it  _ had _ been Neville, eloped? Right now is for focusing on her education, focusing on herself. Yes, she’s just going to let this go. She can move on, it’s alright to leave some things unanswered—

“ _ How _ could my psychological analysis have been wrong? I must’ve read a hundred pages on male psychology, at least.”

“Male psychology…” Ginny repeats, and then they sit in silence.

Hermione’s mind is racing, scrolling through projections and possible mistakes she could have made about the superego, or the id, or... There’s something else there, too, buried underneath the psychobabble. Thoughts that Hermione isn’t quite sure whether to entertain. It’s just… the way that Ginny said  _ male psychology _ like that, with the ghost of an emphasis on  _ male _ . The way Ginny looks at her sometimes. The way Hermione sometimes catches herself looking back. 

“Should I have…” Hermione thinks about how to phrase this with a safety-net built in, how to have plausibly deniability. “Should I have looked into  _ female _ psychology?”

“Maybe,” Ginny says, twirling her hair around her finger instead of looking at Hermione.

“How long were you going to let me flounder about for?”

“I wanted to see how long it took for you to figure it out. For the brightest witch of your age, it took you forever.” Ginny’s smirks at her, and Hermione finally understands the way it tugs at something in her chest.

“So, you— you meant it, right? It’s not some sort of joke?”

Ginny sobers. “I meant it. Go out with me next Hogsmeade weekend?”

“Maybe our first date should be to the library, so you can learn how to write poetry.” Hermione holds up the card. “ _ Chocolate is brown _ ? You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?”

Ginny curls her feet up under her on the couch and settles in closer to Hermione. “Yes, well, I used up all my best lines on Harry in first year.”

“I just haven’t got fresh pickled toad-colored eyes,” Hermione says, sighing and shaking her head in mock disappointment.

“So, it’s a yes, then? You’ll go out with me?”

“If it’s safe. Wouldn’t want you to  _ drown _ .”

“Shut up,” Ginny says, punching Hermione playfully in the shoulder. From the way that they fit together, Hermione should have known Ginny was the answer to the puzzle a long time ago.


End file.
